Page 6 of Forgotten
After a long silence, the doctor asks to see Ashley outside. The nurse follows them until I’m alone in the room.
“…predict the neurological outcome.”
“How is this even possible?” It doesn’t even sound like Ash. I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but the door is open and Ash’s voice is loud in the corridor. I can’t help but listen to my best friend, whenever he speaks. He has a way with words. He’ll complain about English yet always find the right ones.
The doctor’s voice is lower, the tone is gentle, understanding, but I know something’s really wrong with me.
“I assume a lot has happened in about two years,” the doctor is telling Ashley. “Physically, he’s recovering quite well. I expect he’ll be ready for discharge in about three-to-four weeks. The neurologist will be informed and we will be expecting to see Mr. Hale for a regular follow up twice a week. In the meantime, try not to overwhelm him with information he doesn’t remember. Stick with what’s out in the open; what hasn’t changed since his last memory.”
Ash’s voice sounds small and weak and I cannot understand what he says.
“I recommend being gentle. Forcing memories onto him may cause him to become frustrated and anxious. You said he has experience with anxiety?”
A pause, where all I have to do is ignore the rapid heaving of my chest.
“Do you have any more questions?" the doctor is asking, then.
“How could this happen?”
“Retrograde amnesia is not uncommon among patients the likes of Mr. Hale. The trauma of the accident was extensive and his brain is now having issues accessing information…”
It’s too many gigantic words, too many complicated concepts, so I stop listening to the doctor. I lost some memories? How is this even possible? They must be somewhere, if I just work harder. I thought this happened only in films—in awkwardly constructed TVshows.
I feel the headache crawl back under my skin, or maybe it never left. I look outside of the window and find myself wishing more than anything that it would rain. That’s what always gets a dramatic moment going, isn’t it? The clouds darkening the sky, the wind blowing the dry leaves around in the most chaotic circles. The lightning, the looming tension that is so high—when the first drop of rain finally starts falling, it’s a relief. I keep my eyes on the window and it feels like it should be raining. My heart is already pounding in rhythm with the inexistent thunder. The blood in my veins is rushing just as rainwater down the sewer. And it’s just comically correct that instead of a grandiose storm, my dramatic curveball is accompanied by clear, blue skies. Maybe if I stare at the window long enough, the storm will come.
It doesn’t. Instead, there’s sunshine outside the window and outside my hospital room. Ash’s voice is echoing down the corridor.
“Will he ever regain his memories?”
“Only time will tell, Mr. Bergman.”
I pretend to be asleep when Ash walks back into the room. Everything is still, perfectly silent for a long moment. Then, finally, Ash lets out a muffled sob and sits back into his chair, next to the hospital bed.
“What are we going to do?” he asks as his warm hand rests on my left hand.
I’m about to open my eyes again, tell him that I did not forget him—that no matter what, he’s still my best friend. I’ve got to say something, anything.
In the end, I don’t.
“I can’t go through all of it again. I cannot.” Ash exhales, dropping his head down onto the mattress.
I have no idea what it means.
It must be hours before someone else comes in. I don’t sleep, but I’m not fully awake either. My breathing matches Ash’s and for a while, everything is fine.
“Mr. Bergman. I didn’t know you were still here.” The nurse sounds far, far away.
“Please don’t call me that, Lindsey. And you know I’ve been here the entire time.”
Lindsey, the nurse, chuckles, and says, “You must really love him.”
Ash doesn’t reply, or if he does, I do not hear it.
Of course my best friend loves me. That isn’t new information. We have been friends for over twenty years. If he didn’t love me, I’d kill him. Although for some reason, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that Ash should not be here.
Still, as I doze off into a dreamless sleep, I wonder at the earnest tone Lindsey used, at the silence that followed.
It’s so unlike Ashley to be still.
